


The Journey

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Christmas, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-31
Updated: 1999-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Benton Fraser, Ray Vecchio, and Meg Thatcher cross paths with a young family newly arrived in Chicago from the Mississippi Delta.  A somewhat different Christmas tale.





	The Journey

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
The Journey

## The Journey

### by Josephine March

**1\. Mississippi: Sunday**

_Then Mary spoke to Joseph so meek and so mild,  
"Joseph, gather me some cherries, for I am with child."_

The shotgun house squatted by the side of the narrow road as though it had grown out of the land itself. Devoid of paint, it was nearly the same earth color as the dark, fertile fields that surrounded it . The small patch of front yard was shaded by an enormous old oak tree whose few remaining leaves were the same color as the earth. The only splash of color in the scene came from an orange-gold automobile pulled up in the front yard. Of indeterminate age, and leprously spotted with gray primer, it might or might not have been in working order. The sky, slate-gray and heavy with thunderclouds, arched over the flat, empty landscape like a bowl. The only sound was the occasional distant rumble of thunder. The air held the tang of the approaching rain.

A young woman carrying a large basket on her hip emerged from the house, stood on the narrow front porch, peered at the sky, and hurried to the clothesline beside the house. Working carefully, she began pulling down laundry that had been hung there, folding each piece before leaning to place it in the basket. From time to time she stopped and pressed her hands to the small of her back, for she was far advanced in her pregnancy. She finished gathering the laundry in just as the skies resounded with an enormous thunderclap. As she hurried to the porch, she saw a car making its way slowly down the road. It pulled up into the yard just as the first, fat raindrops began pelting down.

The young woman waited courteously as the occupant of the car � an elderly man in a dark suit � emerged and walked slowly to the porch, leaning heavily on his cane. He chose to ignore the downpour.

"Daddy Jim," she began. "It's nice..."

He interrupted, pointing a bony finger at her. "Remember the Sabbath Day, to keep it holy!" he exclaimed in a sonorous voice. "What are you doing washing on the Lord's Day, girl?" Without giving her time to reply he brushed past her and entered the house. "Now, where's my son?"

"He's sleeping, Daddy Jim," she began.

"Don't you �Daddy Jim' me, girl. The Lord knows you and Jimmy weren't in church again this morning. He knows, and He will not forget. Where was he, playing in that juke joint again last night until all hours?"

"It's just that we need the money right now, Daddy Jim. With the baby."

But he had brushed past her and gone through the kitchen and into the small bedroom. A young man lay sprawled on the bed there, presenting the picture of exhaustion even in sleep. The old man reached out and prodded the sleeping figure with his cane.

"Get up! Get up right now, I tell you!"

Jimmy McNeill let go of sleep slowly, as though it were a precious thing to be guarded. "Daddy?" he asked sleepily. Then his eyes opened fully and he was out of bed and on his feet in an instant. Clad only in his shorts, he snatched at a pair of denim overalls hanging on the bedpost and began to pull them on before speaking. He was a young man, tall, lean, and well-muscled, though his scant clothing revealed that he might have benefitted from more food. At this moment, his dark eyes snapped with anger. He finished pulling on his overalls before speaking.

"What do you mean coming here and waking me up like this? Have you been scaring Renee?" He looked over at his wife, who was standing in the doorway, still carrying the laundry basket. She stood calmly, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"She tells me you've been playing at that joint again," began the older man. "No good can come of it, son. You had better quit your sinful ways, especially now that you've got a young one coming into the world. Train up a child in the way that he should go..."

"And how am I supposed to provide for this child?" The younger man's hands were balled into fists, as though he would strike his father.

"The Lord will provide," began the older man.

"Yeah. Well, where was he when I was laid off, Daddy?" The low voice was tight with barely suppressed anger. "The Lord helps those who help themselves, that's what I say. If he wants to help out by letting me play in the club, then that's what I'll do!"

"You'd better mend your ways, Son. You're dragging yourself and your wife through the muck of sin, consorting with harlots and lowlife in that club. Drinking..." The old man's voice once again took on the sonorous tones of the pulpit.

Jimmy paused for a very long time before speaking. "That's enough, Daddy! This is my house. Just leave now. Right now, Daddy."

Shocked beyond words, the older man looked at him, then turned on his heel and left without looking back. The sound of his cane reverberated on the wooden floor of the little house, and the front door slammed with an awful finality. As the two young people heard the car start, the thunder rumbled again.

Renee, as shocked as her father-in-law, began to weep silently.

"Don't cry, NeNe! Please don't cry!" Jimmy was at her side in an instant, taking the forgotten basket from her hands and setting it on the floor before gathering her in his arms. "He's just a stubborn old fool. He doesn't have the sense he was born with."

"He's your father, Jim. You just threw your own father out of the house. I never thought I'd hear you talk to him that way."

"Well, the way I look at it, I'm a father now, too. Or I will be in another three weeks. The baby needs some kind of a future. We all need a future."

"I know he's always hated me." Renee's voice was so quiet he could barely make out her words.

"He doesn't hate you! He's just bitter. Just a bitter, miserable old man. He's pushed away everyone he ever loved or who ever loved him. First there was Uncle Will, then Tommy," Jimmy referred to an older brother who had left their rural Mississippi home ten years before. "And now me. With Mama gone..."

Renee struggled for calm. "I thought when he found out about the baby..." she could not continue.

"Aw, Renee! It wouldn't have mattered who I'd married. No girl in the world would have been good enough. Please try to understand that. Now then!" He put his arm around her shoulder and propelled her to the bed, compelling her gently to sit down. "You sit there a minute. I have a surprise for you. An early Christmas surprise!"

At the word "Christmas" Renee's tears began to flow again, for the holiday was only a few days away. She was little more than a girl; only twenty, and though she normally met life with courage and good humor, occasionally both would fail her.

Jimmy was opening the top drawer of a plain pine dresser that stood in the corner of their tiny bedroom. From under a pile of socks he extracted a long, white envelope. He walked to the bed, sat down beside Renee, put his arm around her, and handed it to her with a flourish and a smile.

"It's from Uncle Will," he said. "Open it!"

Renee pulled out the single sheet of lined paper and began to read. When she had finished, she handed it back to him and was silent for a long moment before speaking. "Chicago," she breathed. "Work in Chicago. How on Earth can we pick up and move to Chicago?"

"I wasn't thinking of moving there for good right away," Jimmy replied. He had clearly thought this through very carefully. "There's two things I can do in Chicago. I can play in the club where Uncle Will plays, and I can find a day job. Work in a garage." Jimmy had been a mechanic for several years, learning his trade in his early teens by working part-time at a local filling station. He had signed on full time after high school and had worked there until two months ago, when the station was sold.

"The party he wants me to play for first is on New Year's Eve," Jimmy went on. "As you can see by the letter, if we can get there between Christmas and New Year's, he'll probably know about other work I can pick up. If it works out, we can get settled there. If not," he sighed, "there's always here."

He hugged her close, gently patting that spot on her belly where he imagined his unborn child's head was located. "So what do you think?"

"You're sure he's got the work for you?"

"You saw the letter, Renee."

Renee paused for a very long moment. "A week," she replied decisively. I'll go up there with you until the day after New Year's. If it doesn't work out, I'm coming back here. It's going to get to the point where I can't be traveling seven hundred miles back and forth to Chicago."

Renee felt better for having made up her mind. Though still inwardly terrified, she smiled up at him and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Jimmy crossed to the small window and peered out. "Good!" he exclaimed. "The rain has stopped. How about making us some lunch while I go out and see to Gal." Gal, the car parked out front, was Jimmy's treasure, an ancient 1971 Buick that he kept running by a combination of prayer and mechanical genius. Renee swallowed her fears, smiled at her husband, and went to the kitchen to fix lunch.

 

**2\. Chicago: Sunday**

_O come! Thou rod of Jesse's stem,  
From every foe deliver them._

Hallie Jones sat at a table in the back of the room. The club was dark, closed on a Sunday. The black- and-white tile floor gleamed in the dim light reflected in the mirror over the bar. Chairs were stacked on tables; their upright legs surrounded her like a forest. The smoke from her cigarette spiraled upward into the gloom.

"She's still a fine-looking woman," thought Will McNeill, who was seated opposite her. "She must be close to seventy now." And indeed she was handsome. The daughter of sharecroppers, Hallie had come north with her husband Charles after the war to seek their fortune. They had found their life's work in this small room, hosting a dazzling array of gifted men and women who came to Chicago to play the blues. Although laugh lines surrounded her eyes, Hallie's mahogany skin was smooth and unlined. Her dark hair betrayed no sign of gray, and her tall figure was as slim as a young girl's. Only her hands, which were the hands of an old woman, betrayed the years of work she had poured into the club where they now sat.

"I'm going to have to give it up, Willie," she was saying. She used the old, familiar name by which she'd called him since they had been children together. "The neighborhood has just gone too far. I guess people want their blues in a safer environment." Her lips pursed with irony, and she sighed deeply. "Now they're telling me from the street that if I don't let them deal their drugs from in here they'll drive away what little business I have left. I'm sure not making any money off the dinner crowd, but I don't intend to make any off their crack, either."

Will, for once at a loss for words, looked across the table at his old friend. After a long moment he took one of Hallie's hands in both of his. "I can't argue with you, Hallie," he said in a low voice. "Everything you're saying is true. But the boys and I will be here with you til the end. You decide when that's got to be." He paused, took a drag of his cigarette, and smiled sadly. "I'd like to see the old place go out with a bang," he finished. "Let's do it for Charlie, and to celebrate all the good times."

Hallie smiled, looking suddenly young. "OK, Willie. Let's do it up right. New Year's Eve."

And the two friends sat and smoked in companionable silence.

 

**3\. Near Memphis: Monday**

_I wonder as I wander out under the sky_  
How Jesus, my savior, was born for to die  
For poor ornery people like you and like I.  
I wonder as I wander out under the sky.

Jimmy peered through the windshield into the early evening gloom. He drove the Interstate carefully, deliberately, never allowing himself to go above the posted speed limit. He was familiar, from conversations with his friends, with the particular road hazards that faced him. "DWB," they called it with bitter irony. "Driving while Black." And though Jimmy had never been far from the back roads of his rural home, he knew that he could be pulled over for the slightest infraction � or no infraction at all � and life would be suddenly miserable.

Renee was asleep beside him, curled up against the window in near total exhaustion. They were nearing the halfway point of their journey, somewhere near Memphis. Gal was overheating slightly, and he kept a close eye on her dashboard gauges. He sent up another silent prayer that it was just the sensor and not the water pump. But it was time to find a place to spend the night. He noted a billboard for an inexpensive motel. At the next exit he signaled carefully and left the Interstate.

Renee slept on as he entered the office and arranged for their room, counting out thirty-six of their precious dollars. He shivered a little as he approached the car again. A fine, icy drizzle was falling, and it was much colder here than at home. As he woke Renee, he settled his jacket around her before re- locking the car and walking with her to their room. He then made a return trip to Gal, popping her hood and peering carefully in. He went to the trunk and took out a large container of coolant, topping off Gal's reservoir before shutting the hood again. Next he extracted their suitcase and his guitar.

Next only to Renee, the guitar was the most precious thing in Jimmy's life. A fine, full-bodied Gibson, it had been the gift of his Uncle Will when he was only ten years old. "You learn to play that guitar, Boy," he had said. "And when you do, you come see me in Chicago." Jimmy carried the guitar, safe in its case, carefully to the room where Renee was waiting for him.

 

**4\. Chicago: Monday**

_Oh, the rising of the sun, and the running of the deer!  
The playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir._

"I don't know where he is, Frase," Francesca Vecchio shook her head in perplexity. "He was supposed to be here at ten o'clock sharp to pick me up. When he gets here, I'm gonna kill him!" She shook her head in exasperation and hugged her music folder against her chest. The night air was bitter, with a hint of snow. She and Benton Fraser stood together on the steps of Saint Michael's. Choir rehearsal � an extra in preparation for Christmas � was breaking up, and their fellow choristers hurried down the steps all around them.

"He didn't say anything to me about any plans, Francesca," responded her companion. "Perhaps something unexpected at work..." The wolf, Diefenbaker, stood at his side, alertly eyeing first one human, then the other.

Father Behan hurried down the steps toward them, shivering a bit. "Ah, Francesca," he began. "Your mother just called. Your brother has been detained. She suggests you make your own arrangements about getting home. Would you like to come in and call a taxi?" he gestured back toward the now- darkened church.

"Francesca, I'd be happy to see you home if you don't mind the walk," began Ben.

"That'd be great, Ben!" Francesca congratulated herself on her good fortune. "Thanks, Father. Benton will see me home."

"Well, goodnight and God bless," replied the priest. "See you both Christmas Eve." He turned and hurried back into the church as Ben and Frannie began the brisk walk home.

The Vecchio house was still lit up, even at that late hour. Ma Vecchio hurried to greet them at the door, wiping flour off her hands onto her apron.

"Still making cookies, Ma?" asked Francesca, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Yes. And I have a nice batch just out of the oven," replied the older woman. "How about staying to sample a few, Benton? And a cup of tea?"

"Thank you kindly," replied the Mountie, always happy to be embraced once more by the warmth of the Vecchio household. As they made their way through the living room, Ben observed that the huge Christmas tree was up and decorated. But as in previous years, equal pride of place had been given to a beautifully-carved and very elaborate creche. He paused for a moment, attracted as he always was by the delicate colors and intricate workmanship of the figures. They looked as though they had stepped from some baroque Italian painting. The manger was set in the center, but it was unoccupied; he knew that the figure of the Christ Child would not be set in place until Christmas Eve after Mass, which was the proper time. He extended a finger, unable to resist touching one of the sheep, whose exquisite carving exactly resembled white, fleecy wool.

"From the Old Country," said Mrs. Vecchio coming to stand beside him. "When I was a girl, we didn't have a tree. We had this instead."

"Exactly," said Ben. "It was the same when I was a boy. There weren't any trees, but we always set up my Grandmother's creche. I still have it..." As he examined the creche, Ben was transported back in memory to his boyhood. Despite his grandparents' proclivity for giving him books instead of his heart's desire at Christmas, the memories were happy. He recalled the excited anticipation of seeing his father � most years, at least. His grandmother baked ginger cookies and Scottish shortbread -- culinary treats she was able to prepare without cremation. And there would always be a special ginger man for Ben. On Christmas morning, in addition to the usual additions to his library, his stocking would bulge--stuffed to the brim with wonderful treats: peppermints, chocolate, raisins, and nuts. And each year, at the very toe, would be some wonderful, exotic fruit--an orange or a tangerine. He was uncertain to this day of how these fruits were acquired, which only added to their delightful mystery. Not much of a Christmas by most standards, Ben acknowledged. But for him it was enough. He turned from the creche and headed into the kitchen, resolving to put up his own creche that very night.

The kitchen was warm and fragrant, and Mrs. Vecchio set out hot, strong tea and cookies still warm from the oven. The three of them � Ben, Frannie, and Ma � laughed and discussed their plans for Christmas Eve. Ben would return to the house with the Vecchio family after Midnight Mass for the usual enormous dinner, and after little or no sleep, they would all awaken at dawn with the children. He looked forward to it.

This pleasant discussion was interrupted by the banging of the front door. "Ma?" Ray Vecchio called out.

"In the kitchen, Caro."

"Hi, Ben. Frannie," said Ray as he leaned to kiss his mother. "Thanks for bringing her home, Benny."

"Not a problem," replied Ben. "Something going on at the Precinct?"

"A big drug bust on the Southside," replied his friend. "They needed the extra manpower. I tell you, the worst part of the whole thing is the paperwork." He sat down and accepted a cup of tea from his mother. "Let me finish this, Benny, and I'll take you home. It's cold out there!"

"Thank you kindly, Ray."

 

**5\. Chicago: Tuesday Morning, Shortly After Midnight**

_"Fear not," said he, for mighty dread  
Had seized their troubled mind._

Downtown, Will McNeill shook his head in disgust and gathered his jacket more closely around him. He hadn't seen the inside of a jail cell in almost 40 years, and that other time it had been on trumped up charges. Now, here he sat alongside of God knew what kind of trash. Wishing for his glasses, he peered around the crowded cell once more. No sign of his partners, thank the Lord. But he hadn't seen Hallie. He sent up a quick prayer that she'd been spared this and sat back to consider his fate and his limited options.

"Poor Hallie," he mused. How he wished she had gotten out of the club before this sorry state of affairs. Was it just last night they had discussed the closing? A New Year's Eve party like none other, they'd decided. A fitting final chapter for one of the finest clubs the town had ever seen. Will wasn't worried about Hallie over the long run. He knew that she would be comfortable, that there was a nest egg there for her old age. She'd kept the club running out of a fierce determination and a loyalty to the memory of her husband, Charlie. But this was a sorry way to end it.

He wasn't worried about himself either. He had many friends all over the city and had developed a loyal following over the years. He knew he'd be able to pick up work at any club in town; even uptown. In fact, they'd be falling all over themselves. At the age of sixty-seven he found himself something of a cult hero; "colorful," they called him. He smiled ruefully to himself.

He reminded himself that this was probably no more than a temporary inconvenience. He'd be able to make bail, no problem. In fact, when they looked at his age and his record � or lack of a record � he might not even have to worry about bail. His single brush with the law had been nearly 40 years ago, when he'd been picked up for "loitering;" a lame charge even in those benighted days. The charges had subsequently been dropped.

A more immediate concern was his nephew. He expected the boy and his wife any day now. He figured his chances of getting word out of this hell hole were somewhere between the proverbial slim and none. He'd just have to trust to the Lord that they didn't arrive before he could get himself out of here. Having no experience of jail or drug raids, he had no idea how long that would take. How long could they hold him here without letting him talk to a lawyer? He wondered briefly about the much- discussed single jailhouse phone call. He guessed he'd try Hallie or someone in the band. Next he turned his attention to trying to figure out what time it was.. Past midnight, he was sure. He knew he should sleep, but wondered how he could in this stinking, noisy, brightly-lit place. Resolutely, Will leaned back and shut his eyes.

 

**6\. Near Memphis: Tuesday**

_How far is it to Bethlehem?  
Not very far._

Jimmy and Renee were up early the next morning. As they left their motel room, Jimmy saw a fast- food restaurant across the highway. "Breakfast!" he exclaimed. "We need to get some before we start off. Renee was cheerful enough but seemed listless. "You OK, NeNe?" he asked as they settled at their table.

"I'm fine," she smiled back at him. "Just a little tired, that's all. It must have been the strange bed." She drank all of her orange juice, but she re-wrapped her sausage and biscuit and put them in her handbag. "Might want this for later," she laughed.

For the second morning, they piled into Gal. Jimmy pulled onto the Interstate, remembering to signal, and headed north. "Only a little more than 300 miles to go," he remarked. As he drove, he kept a close watch on Gal's temperature gauge. He also watched the speedometer and rearview mirror.

 

**7\. Chicago: Tuesday Afternoon**

_We are not daily beggars that beg from door to door,  
But we are neighbors' children whom you have seen before._

The annual Christmas party at the 27th Precinct was already in full swing when Benton Fraser arrived with the wolf, Diefenbaker. There was a threat of snow, and the two had enjoyed their long walk from the Consulate. Fraser wore his dress uniform and carried a shopping bag laden with wrapped parcels. He paused at the entrance to the bullpen and accepted a cup of punch before looking around for Ray Vecchio.

"Ah, Ray!" he exclaimed as he spotted his friend. "Merry Christmas."

"And the same to you, Benny," replied Ray, who seemed, for once, to be in a pretty good mood.

"I can't stay long. I have to finish my shopping this afternoon. But I did want to drop off these gifts," Ben went on.

"I think there's a pile for you under the tree," replied Ray. "And we're gonna see you tomorrow night, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Ray. The Inspector has invited me to a matinee performance of �The Nutcracker' tomorrow afternoon. I thought if it was all right with you, I would catch up with you at the church before Midnight Mass."

"That sounds fine. I'll let Ma know. Don't forget, Midnight Mass starts at eleven."

"Right. And Francesca and I will need to be there at least a half-hour early."

Ben turned to place his gifts under the tree and spent a few minutes greeting his friends and associates at the precinct before leaving to finish his shopping.

The early dusk had closed in, and the snow had begun falling in earnest, when Ben and Diefenbaker turned the corner of West Racine Street. Ben's shopping trip had been successful if one were to judge by the number of parcels and shopping bags he carried. "We have a lot of wrapping to do before tomorrow," he told the wolf.

As he neared his apartment, his eye was drawn to an automobile parked near the front. "A Buick Riviera," he mused, "though not in as good a condition as Ray's. Mississippi." His eye caught the license plate without his even having to think about it. Ben stopped to check his mail as he entered the building, then took the stairs at his usual two-at-a-time. Two young people � a man and a woman � stood outside the apartment at the opposite end of his hallway.

"Good evening," said Ben as he approached them. "Were you looking for Mr. McNeill?" He noted that the woman was far along in pregnancy. Though they both wore jackets and appeared reasonably well-dressed, the jackets seemed inadequate for the blowing snow that was beginning to fall.

"Have you seen him?" asked the young man.

Ben removed his Stetson before speaking. "Not for a day or two," he replied. "But he travels. It's not unusual for him to be gone from time to time. The rest of us keep an eye on things for him."

"Are you a police officer?" Jimmy had been very careful not to use the word "cop." He could not place this man's uniform, but the hat definitely said "State Trooper."

"Yes," replied Ben. "Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I've remained attached as Liaison with the Canadian Consulate. My name is Benton Fraser." He extended a hand, which Jimmy shook. "I live in the apartment at the other end of the hall."

Diefenbaker, meanwhile, seemed to approve of the young woman. He had left Ben's side and was now crowded against her as closely as he could manage. He gazed up at her. Renee, raised with an assortment of hunting dogs and other canines, was certainly accustomed to dogs. But she had never seen one quite so large. She eyed him dubiously.

"He won't hurt you, ma'am," offered Ben. "In fact, he seems to approve of you."

She reached down a hesitant hand which Dief nuzzled cheerfully. "What kind of dog is he?"

"Well, he's not actually a dog. Or rather, he's half dog, half Arctic wolf."

To her credit, Renee did not remove her hand or react in any other way. Her hand found and scratched the correct spot between the wolf's pointed ears. Ben thought her face looked somewhat drawn.  
"Are you all right, ma'am?" he asked. "Would you like to come into my apartment and sit down for a moment? A glass of water perhaps?"

Jimmy answered for her. "No, thank you. We'll be on our way."

"I'll tell Mr. McNeill you stopped by," replied Ben. "By the way, is that your car parked out front?"

Jimmy's glance fell once again on the Stetson. He thought of Gal's dilapidated condition, and what he now knew for certain was her need for a water pump. "No," he replied. "It's not ours."

"Ah," replied Ben. "Well, happy holidays to you both."

"The same to you."

Back on the street, Jimmy cast a dubious eye back at the apartment building. But he saw no sign of anyone looking from a window on the third floor. He settled Renee in the passenger's seat and returned to the trunk, where he took out a bottle of water. He carefully re-filled Gal's reservoir, though he knew it would not do much good.

"So what are we going to do?" asked Renee calmly enough, once he was seated inside the car again.

"Easy," he replied. "Uncle Will's been detained somewhere. He knew we were coming. We're going to get a room. I have his phone number, and I'm going to keep on calling til he turns up." He did not reveal how meager their cash reserves were, and Renee chose not to ask him.

Back inside, Ben set his parcels on the table before shedding his uniform for more comfortable clothes. He inhaled deeply of the fragrance of the small fir tree he and Diefenbaker shared. Ben preferred not to use electric lights on his tree. It was decorated in the old way with cranberries, popcorn, and a few precious ornaments. He paused by the bookcase, where he had set up his grandmother's creche with great care. The Wise Men made a smaller grouping at the opposite end of the shelf. Smiling to himself, he gave each Wise Man a small push with his finger � moving them a step closer on their journey to Bethlehem, just as he had done as a boy. Once their evening meal was finished, and the dishes were done, Ben turned to Dief with a smile and said, "Now. On to the packages."

 

**8\. Chicago: Tuesday Evening**

_Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light.  
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight._

Jimmy drove carefully through the maze of side streets of his uncle's neighborhood, turning now left and again right, keeping a careful eye on Gal's temperature gauge. The traffic was heavy, and he was unaccustomed to navigating it, though he considered himself a good driver. It wasn't helping Gal's dead or dying water pump, either. Just as the needle approached the red zone again, he saw a sign up ahead: ROOMS: DAILY, WEEKLY, MONTHLY RATES. He parked Gal carefully by the curb. "I'm going to go check out these rooms," he said to Renee. "You stay right here."

Renee nodded, smiling tiredly but saying nothing. Her hands moved to her back again. It was a gesture she had been repeating with greater frequency over the past few hours, and it added a sense of urgency to Jimmy's efforts to find them a place to stay. He locked the car and headed for the doorway of the building.

The entrance was narrow, sandwiched between two storefronts. The hallway inside appeared clean, though it smelled oppressively of pine-scented cleaner. The odor made Jimmy want to sneeze.

"Good evening. May I help you?" The tiny woman behind the bullet-proof glass at the counter appeared as old as time itself. Her hair was snow white and sparse, pulled up into a tiny bun at the top of her head. Her gold-rimmed glasses twinkled on her face, which was a mass of wrinkles.

"I'd like to see about a room for myself and my wife," replied Jimmy. "Could you tell me the cost?"

She glanced at him over her glasses with sharp, blue eyes and seemed to like what she saw. She thought for a few moments before replying. "Well, the rooms rent for $50 per week, payable in advance. If you stay more than a week, there's another $5 charge for the sheets and towels. There's a bathroom on each floor. No cooking in your room, and this is a respectable place. No drugs, no drinking, and no..." and she looked at him again, "unmarried couples."

Jimmy breathed an inward sigh of relief. Though it would consume a huge percentage of their remaining nest egg, he had the money. "Yes ma'am," he replied. "I'd like to rent a room for a week." He reached into his wallet and counted out two twenties and a ten, laying them on the counter.

The woman opened a drawer, took out a key, and pushed it through the slot towards him before taking the money. "I'm Mrs. Grant," she said. "You're in Room 203. It's the first room on your right at the top of the stairs."

"Thank you kindly," replied Jimmy as he pocketed the key. As he left the building and approached the car, it occurred to him that he should have asked to see the room. But it was fully dark now, and snow was beginning to fall in small, stinging flakes. He pulled his jacket more tightly around him.

"It's all set, NeNe," he said as he unlocked her door. "Baby! What's wrong?"

Renee was leaning back against the seat, hands pressed to the small of her back. Her eyes were closed. She opened them and smiled at him. "I'm all right, Jimmy. My back hurts an awful lot. I'll be fine when we get inside."

Jimmy supported her carefully as he helped her out of the car and into the building. He smiled at Mrs. Grant before the two of them walked slowly up the stairs to Room 203. Much to his relief, the room appeared spotless, though it was very shabby. The light came from a single small lamp beside an iron bed whose paint was peeling off in large flakes. The bed was covered by a pink chenille bedspread. There was a plain dresser, similar to the one they had left behind in Mississippi. A table with two straight chairs completed the simple furnishings.

"Would you like to get on the bed, NeNe?" he asked, his face betraying his worry.

"I think I'll stand a while, Jimmy. Stretch my legs." Her hands went to her back again. She allowed Jimmy to divest her of her coat.

"I'm going to leave the key with you," said Jimmy. "I'll go down and get our things. Don't open the door to anyone but me. Will you be OK?"

"I'll be fine."

Jimmy's face was a mask of worry as he went back downstairs. His normally lively wife had become passive and quiet, and it concerned him greatly. He reasoned that the two days of driving had probably worn her out. He did a mental calculation, as he had done so often over the past few weeks. Still almost a month until January 14, when the doctor had said the baby was due. Pausing in the front hallway, he took out his wallet and counted its contents carefully. Less than ten dollars! Jimmy unlocked Gal's trunk and took out their suitcase and the guitar, re-locking everything carefully. He would see what he could do about Gal later.

Returning to the rooming house, he stopped at the counter. "Excuse me, Mrs. Grant," he began. "Is there a pay phone?"

"Just down at the end of this hallway on your right, Mr. McNeill," she replied. "That was your wife?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied the young man. "Her name is Renee. I'm sure she'll want to meet you later. She's a little tired from the trip."

"I don't wonder," said the old woman drily. "Where are you folks from?" She liked this young man. He was quiet and well-mannered. Courteous to an old lady. Yes, that was the word. Courteous and well-brought-up. She hoped he and his wife would stay a while, though she doubted they would, with a child on the way. She liked having young people around.

"Indian Springs, Mississippi. You probably never heard of it," he replied with a smile.

"And if you don't mind an old lady asking, how old are you?"

"I don't mind at all, Mrs. Grant," he smiled. "I'm twenty-one."

"Ah," she replied, smiling back at him. "Same age as my youngest grandson Craig. He lives in California, and I hardly ever get to see him. I'll go out there for a visit next month. Warm up my old bones in that sunshine. Is it a local call, Mr. McNeill?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She stood up and unlocked the door to her cubbyhole of an office, gesturing for him to enter. "Then why don't you use this phone? A quarter is a quarter, after all."

"Thank you kindly." Jimmy stepped into the office and went to the phone, quickly dialing his uncle's number. He let it ring a great many times before hanging up.

"No answer?"

"No. I'm trying to get in touch with my uncle Will. He's expecting us. I guess he may have been called out of town," replied Jimmy, putting the best face he could on things.

"And does he live nearby?"

"He lives on West Racine Street."

"My, that's a little distance from here," replied Mrs. Grant.

"Yes ma'am. I drove around for a while trying to find a place that looked OK for Renee."

"Well, I must say I'm glad you ended up here." She smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "Your wife looks as though she's not feeling very well. I take it this is your first baby?"

"The trip wasn't easy for her." He turned to leave. "Thanks for the use of the phone, Mrs. Grant."

"Any time," she replied. "I'm in the office all evening. If you want to try back later, just stop by."

Upstairs, Jimmy unlocked the door to Room 203, entered, and secured the chain behind himself. He found Renee still standing, staring out of the window at the rapidly-falling snow. Her hands were again pressed to her back. "Looks like we'll have a white Christmas," she remarked quietly. "I never saw one before." She turned from the window and silently began to help Jimmy store their belongings in the dresser and the small closet.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. "It's Mrs. Grant," said a muffled voice from the other side. Jimmy opened the door a crack and, satisfied, removed the chain and invited the old woman to enter.

She carried a tray covered with a clean dish towel. "I thought you kids might be hungry," she said as she set it down on the table. "Just some ham and cheese sandwiches. I was making my own supper. Just as easy to make a couple extra, and you won't have to go back out this evening."

Renee smiled. "Mrs. Grant," she began. "You didn't have to do this. And look at those beautiful cookies." A small plate, set on one side of the tray, contained delicate golden cookies sparkling with white sugar crystals."

"I like to make a few at the holidays. Share them with the tenants."

"Well, they look like the ones my Mama made when I was a girl," replied the young woman.

"Now, sit down here and eat that sandwich," replied Mrs. Grant. "Mr. McNeill, you can bring the tray down when you're finished." And with that she was out of the room.

Leola Grant returned to her office cubbyhole, pulled down the curtain on the glass, locked the door carefully, and entered her living room. She sighed with contentment as she slipped off her shoes and settled into the large reclining chair. A television remote sat on her small chairside table. She clicked on the television and began searching for a Christmas special. Within an hour, she was comfortably asleep.

The late-night news was ending when she was startled awake by an urgent knocking at the office door. She opened it and peered into the anxious face of Jimmy McNeill.

 

**9\. Chicago: 5 a.m. Wednesday Morning (Christmas Eve)**

_Once in royal David's city_  
Stood a lowly cattle shed  
Where a mother laid her baby  
In a manger for his bed.

The old woman looked even tinier and more fragile perched on the orange plastic chair in the hospital waiting room. She slept soundly enough, if uncomfortably. Jimmy approached her cautiously. "Mrs. Grant," he whispered, barely touching her shoulder.

She came instantly awake. "Jimmy! Everything all right?"

"It's a boy, Mrs. Grant." He sat next to her and took both her hands in his. "Six pounds, eight ounces. He's perfect. Would you like to see him?"

"Of course I would, Jimmy. Or should I say �papa?'" She twinkled at him. "And how is Renee?"

"Well, she's sleeping now. She came through it just fine. It was very fast!" Jimmy shook his head.

"She's a lucky girl," observed Mrs. Grant drily, sighing as she stood up.

Renee lay deeply asleep, looking very small against the pillows. The child slept also, closely swaddled in a bassinet at her bedside. His black hair lay in thick, damp ringlets, framing his round face. His skin, though it had the same tone as his mother's, was so tender and fragile that a hint of dark rose flush lay softly on his cheeks and his tiny, perfect ears. His hands were hidden by the soft blue blanket that was wrapped snugly around him. As they watched, he made a small sound in his sleep, his mouth forming a perfect "o."

Mrs. Grant reached out a hand to touch him but withdrew it, fearful of interrupting this peaceful scene. "He's beautiful," she mouthed silently at Jimmy. The two left the room quietly and returned to the waiting room

"Jimmy, your son is beautiful," said Mrs. Grant as they settled back into the plastic chairs. "Takes me back to when mine were babies." Her eyes were bright behind the twinkling spectacles. "Now, how about some breakfast? It's on me."

The hospital cafeteria was surprisingly busy at six in the morning. Mrs. Grant and Jimmy mustered up what breakfast they could and settled at a quiet table for two.

"They're saying they could let her go home as early as noon," Jimmy began once they had been seated.

"Well, it wasn't like that in my day," sniffed Mrs. Grant. "With mine, I stayed in the hospital for ten days each."

The two ate in silence for a while. Finally, Mrs. Grant spoke again. "If they're letting Renee go today, we need to think about getting everybody home. Do you have any warm things for the baby?"

"We don't have anything for the baby at all," Jimmy replied. "He wasn't supposed to get here quite yet. But I have a little money. What would you say he would need?" Jimmy considered the contents of his pockets, which amounted to a little less than ten dollars.

"Diapers," Mrs. Grant began. "People use these paper diapers nowadays. "A couple of little undershirts. Some pajamas or nightgowns. I used nightgowns. Some baby oil and baby powder. At least one blanket. And something warm to bring him home in. They'll send enough formula home with you to last a couple of days. The formula people want you as their loyal customer." She paused and drew a breath. "Can you do all that?"

"I'll do it, Mrs. Grant."

"I need another cup of coffee," she replied. "And then let's go see how they're doing.

After he got their coffee, Jimmy stopped at a pay phone in the cafeteria and tried his uncle again. Once again, there was no answer.

 

**10\. Chicago, West Racine Street: Wednesday Morning 5:30 a.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen  
Where the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even._

Benton Fraser was, as usual, up before the sun. He and Diefenbaker enjoyed their morning walk enormously. Although the dawn sky promised sun, several inches of new snow lay on the ground. The city streets in their neighborhood still appeared clean and fresh under the white blanket that had not had time to become soiled with traffic. Though Ben walked vigorously, the wolf bounded ahead of him again and again, pausing and turning to look back as though urging his friend to run through the welcome snow. Both were reluctant to turn back.

When they had finished their breakfast, Ben dressed quickly. His backpack, which constituted the only luggage he owned, was packed and stood ready by the door. He and Dief would spend Christmas Eve night at the Vecchios'. His parcels were divided into two bags, one earmarked for the Consulate, the other for the Vecchio family. He shrugged into his coat, placed his Stetson on his head, and picked up the Consulate bag before turning to Diefenbaker.

"Stay here," he said. "I'll be back for you after the ballet this evening."

The wolf looked at him but did not reply.

As Ben walked down the corridor to the stairs, he ran into his neighbor, Will McNeill. The older man was preparing to unlock the door to his apartment. He appeared tired and worn, and it was apparent to Ben that he had not shaved in several days. Ben could hear the telephone's shrill ring from within, but Will fumbled for his keys, and the ringing stopped.

"Ah, Mr. McNeill. Good morning." Ben broke off as he got a closer look at the old man. "Are you all right, Mr. McNeill?"

"Good morning, Constable," replied Will. "I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all. A problem at the club."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so. I'd like to talk it over with you. But there's plenty of time for that."

"By the way, Mr. McNeill. Some people were here looking for you. A young man and..."

"When!" Will interrupted.

"Yesterday evening, about five o'clock. There was a car parked outside with Mississippi plates. But they said, it didn't belong to them."

"Did they say where I could reach them?" Will dragged a hand over his tired eyes.

"No. The young man said they would find a place to stay and attempt to contact you."

"Maybe you'd better come in for a minute, Ben. Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Ben picked up his bag and followed Will McNeill into the apartment.

Will led the way to the kitchen. "I've got to make some coffee," he said. "Make yourself comfortable." When he had the coffee started, he came and sat heavily in the chair opposite Ben's. "My nephew, James McNeill," he began. "Was there a girl with him?"

"Yes," replied Ben. "She was pregnant."

Will shut his eyes for a moment. "His wife, Renee. The baby is due in another three weeks or so. "Jimmy's a musician � a blues guitarist. He's pretty talented for a boy his age. My brother's son. He was laid off from his job as a mechanic, and he just couldn't turn anything else up down there in the country. I had made arrangements for him to get some work at Hallie's club, and I'd talked to a few people at other clubs about him. He has a future here, Ben. Between his music and his trade, he can make a real go of it here. I can carry him til he gets on his feet. I know it's not going to be long."

Ben nodded but said nothing.

"Sunday night, Hallie told me she'd been having trouble. The gang down there wants to deal crack from the club. They'd been leaning on her."

"Did she go to the police?"

"No. She's not getting any younger, and she decided to just close down. We decided New Year's Eve would be the best time. But we were too late." Will got up and poured strong, black coffee into two mugs, handing one of them to Ben.

"Monday night, the cops raided the place," he went on after taking a long sip. "They had a warrant, and they got who they came after. They also got me." He sighed and shut his eyes again. " I was in the men's room between sets. That's apparently how they were doing their deals. Handing the stuff and the money through the window in there." He shook his head. "Hallie's in the clear, and so am I. But I've spent the last thirty-six hours downtown in the lockup, waiting to make bail. I was afraid Jimmy would show up."

"And you have no idea where he's gone?" asked Ben. "I can call Detective Vecchio, and have him ask around. We can canvass the neighborhood here..."

"Vecchio?" inquired Will. "I may be wrong, but I think he's the cop who picked me up. Tall fellow. Balding. Very well dressed."

"That's him. Look, Mr. McNeill. We know this is a misunderstanding. When it's been explained to Detective Vecchio..."

Will held up his hand. "I thank you, Ben. But I'm not ready to hit the panic button just yet. Jimmy's a smart young man. He and Renee aren't on the street. You go on about your business. If we haven't heard from them by day after tomorrow, I'll be in touch. You can help me then."

"This evening," Ben said in a tone that brooked no refusal. "If you haven't heard from them by this evening, when I return to my apartment, we'll go after them. You have my number at the Consulate in case you need anything."

"All right, Ben." Will was too tired to refuse. "I'll stay right here by the phone. There's one more thing."

"Just name it."

"My guitar. It's missing from the club according to Hallie. And I don't know if it was picked up, stolen, or what. They didn't have it at the jail. Could your Detective Vecchio help me look into that? It was worth a good bit of money."

"I'll have him contact you, Mr. McNeill. And I'll see you this evening. Now, I'll see myself out. Get some rest." Ben stood, replaced his Stetson, picked up his parcels, and left the apartment.

 

**11\. Chicago: Wednesday, 8 a.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan._  
Earth lay hard as iron, water like a stone.  
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow.  
In the bleak midwinter, long, long ago.

Jimmy left the hospital without going back to check on Renee. In the parking lot, he eyed Gal dubiously. The sun shone over a white landscape that appeared alien and unaccustomed to him. "Better save Gal for bringing everybody home," he thought to himself. Resolutely, he turned up the collar of his light jacket and set off, his shoes crunching in the fresh snow.

When he arrived at the rooming house, he took the stairs up to Room 203 two at a time. He had run the many blocks from the hospital, and he was at this moment a man with a mission. He fumbled the key into the lock and entered the small room. Sunlight streamed through the window, made brighter by the snow outside. Traffic, both street and pedestrian, had begun to stir on the side street where the house was located.

He went directly to the dresser and pulled open the drawer where Renee had placed her things. Making a mental checklist, he pulled out fresh underclothes and a sweater for his wife and laid them on the bed together with her comb and brush.

When he had placed all these items into the suitcase, he stopped, drew a deep breath, and looked out of the window again. There it was � the sign at the end of the block. "Easy-Pawn. Loans." He could see that the shutters had been taken down from the window and decided that the shop was probably now open. Anyone standing close to Jimmy at that instant would have seen a look of great sorrow pass over his calm features. But it was gone in an instant to be replaced by a look of grim determination. Seizing the suitcase in one hand, he went to the closet again and pulled out his guitar. He knew its monetary value. But to him it was nearly irreplaceable, representing both his only legacy and his means of livelihood.

He stopped at the pay phone in the downstairs hallway. There was still the chance that his uncle would have made it home. Again he let the phone ring until all hope was gone.

The proprietor of Easy Pawn sat behind his counter like some sort of monstrous statue. Harry Baines weighed in at over 300 pounds and stood nearly six feet tall. His eyes appeared like slits in his red face; his yellow-white hair stuck out from his head like tufts of dirty cotton. Yet he was in a cheerful mood. Today was Christmas Eve, and business would be brisk. Booming, you might say.

"And what can I do for you this Christmas Eve, Son?" he asked cheerfully as Jimmy approached the counter. The store was crowded with musical instruments. They stood behind counters in the cramped store and even hung from the ceiling. The glass cases contained jewelry of all kinds, plus a few cameras. Shelves everywhere contained electronics � televisions, portable stereos, even personal computers. Jimmy looked around dubiously but soon mastered himself.

Jimmy laid the case on the counter and opened it. Within, cradled in green plush velvet, lay the guitar. It gleamed in the dim light like the beautiful work of art it was, with the mellow amber and brown glow of polished wood, the glistening white mother-of-pearl inlays between silvery frets, the satin sheen of ebony and rosewood. "I'd like to see how much I could get for this," replied Jimmy evenly. He refrained from touching the instrument, for some part of him feared that if he did, he could never bring himself to part with it.

Harry's face was a mask. "A Gibson," he said carelessly. "Mind telling me how you came by this?"

"No sir," replied Jimmy. "It's been mine since I was a boy. My uncle gave it to me." He pointed to the faded label inside the case that showed his name and address. "I have a driver's license to match this."

"Do you know what year it is?" asked Harry.

"My uncle always told me 1949," replied Jimmy. "I don't have any reason for not believing him. I know it's older than I am."

Harry maintained his calm demeanor and frowned slightly. "Well, son, guitars are a glut on the market right now," he began slowly. He shook his head, gesturing at the instruments surrounding them like the thickets of a forest. I could give you, maybe, fifty on it."

"Fifty dollars?" Jimmy kept his voice carefully under control. "It's worth twenty times that and more." He reached for the cover of the case.

"Well, son, seeing that it's Christmas Eve, I could go as high as a hundred."

Jimmy put his hand on the case. Just then a clock somewhere in the shop struck nine. He realized he needed to be back at the hospital quickly. A hundred would take care of Renee and the baby for several days. It might or might not get the new water pump Gal so desperately needed. "I might consider a hundred and fifty," he said.

"One twenty-five," replied Harry, chewing on his cigar a little.

"OK. One twenty-five it is." The paperwork was soon completed, the bills � six twenties and a five � stored safely in his wallet. "I'll be back before thirty days are up," he said. He left the guitar on the counter and walked out of the store without a backward glance. As the front door closed, Harry wiped his hands on his trousers before picking up the instrument. After he had examined it, he picked up the phone.

 

**12\. Chicago: Wednesday, Noon (Christmas Eve)**

_The wrong shall fail, the right prevail  
With peace on Earth, goodwill to men._

If he had been an impatient man, Benton Fraser would have been drumming his fingers on his desktop at the Consulate. As it was, he stood quietly holding the phone to his ear and trying to get a word in edgewise.

"That's right, Ray. Willie McNeill. You picked up Willie McNeill Monday night during that raid on the Southside."

"Yes, Ray. The same Willie McNeill. The musician."

"Well, the courts can establish his innocence or guilt if it comes to that. He's out on bail. All I need for you to do is call him about his guitar. He also has a nephew who may or may not be missing."

"Yes, Ray. That's right. Nowhere to be found. Now, if you'd just..."

"Thank you kindly, Ray. See you tonight. Goodbye."

Fraser hung up the phone and turned to get his hat and coat. The Inspector would be ready to leave for the matinee shortly.

Jimmy McNeill, meanwhile, was finding his way back to the hospital. He had made a number of stops along the way, and had been able to pick up a few of the things the baby needed -- diapers and a warm snowsuit. He had shopped as wisely as he could, but more than half of his precious store of funds was gone. He prayed that it would be enough to tide them over until he could find his uncle and the promised work, but he wondered how he could perform without the Gibson. There was little use in worrying about it.

He found Renee and Mrs. Grant with their heads together over his young son, who was wailing loudly. Renee was laughing as she finished putting on a diaper. It did him good to hear both sounds.

"Hey," he said, extending a finger which was immediately grasped in a tiny fist of iron. The crying did not stop. "You've got quite a voice on you, Little Man," he chuckled.

"He's going to be a singer, like his Daddy," said Renee. She had gained a surprising expertise at handling her son. She re-wrapped his blanket, picked him up, and settled him to nurse, which brought a swift end to his song.

Mrs. Grant stood up. "Let's get some coffee, Jimmy."

The two left Renee and the baby and headed for the cafeteria again. Provided with coffee, they made their way to the same table they had occupied that morning. When they were seated, Mrs. Grant spoke. "They want to keep Renee and the baby here until at least six this evening," she began.

Jimmy looked up, startled.

"I don't think it's anything to worry about," she went on. "He was a tiny bit early, that's all. If it goes past six, demand an explanation." Leola Grant had few concerns about the health of the newest McNeill. She was more concerned that someone might take an interest in the finances and job prospects of his parents. She also had no wish to further alarm the young father seated opposite her, who seemed already to be carrying the weight of the world. "I've let it be known everywhere I could that you two are friends of mine, just in town to visit over the holidays."

The two finished their coffee in silence and made the return trek to Renee's room. Mother and son were once again sleeping. "Make yourself comfortable, Mrs. Grant. I'm going to go try my uncle again," said Jimmy at the door.

The old woman settled herself in a chair, and Jimmy returned to the pay phone. To his everlasting relief, he heard his uncle's voice at the other end.

"Where are you?" Will McNeill asked.

"At the county hospital, Uncle Will. Renee's had the baby. A boy. Are you OK? What happened?"

"It's a long story, but it's over now," replied the old man, his voice rough. "How's Renee? How's the baby?"

"Both fine, Uncle Will. They're letting her out of here around six this evening."

"Do you have a place to stay?"

"We met the nicest woman, Uncle Will. Mrs. Grant. We have a room with her for a week. It's not far from you at all." Will read the address and telephone number from the paper Mrs. Grant had given him.

"Do I need to come get you? I don't drive, but I can certainly come and get you all in a cab."

"That's OK, Uncle Will. I have the car. Why don't you meet us there at, say, seven? If we're going to be any later, I'll call you."

"I'll be there," replied his uncle. "It's mighty good to hear your voice, Jimmy."

"Yours too, Uncle Will." Jimmy hung up the phone with a smile and a sigh of relief.

When he returned to the room, he found his wife and son sleeping soundly again. He gave a silent thumbs-up and smile in response to Mrs. Grant's silent question. The old woman stood, picked up her coat, and beckoned him into the hallway.

"You got him?"

"Yes. He'll be at the rooming house at seven this evening." The relief in Will's voice was palpable.

"I'm so glad, Jimmy." She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. "I'm going to go home now and try to get a little sleep. You bring that wife and baby of yours right back as soon as you get out of here."

Jimmy squeezed back. "Thanks for everything. We'll be there."

As she got into the taxi, Leola Grant's mind was busy. "I'll open 102," she thought. Right next to the office, Room 102 was slightly larger than most of the other rooms and had a small sitting area. More importantly, it had a private bath. She dozed in the cab, and once she had settled into her own apartment, she slept soundly.

  
**13\. Chicago, Downtown: Wednesday, 5 p.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_The children were nestled all snug in their beds  
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads._

"Inspector, thank you very much. I can't imagine a more enjoyable Christmas gift. And I'm glad you could accompany me."

Benton Fraser and his commanding officer, Inspector Meg Thatcher, stood in the lobby of the concert hall. The Christmas Eve matinee performance of "The Nutcracker" had just ended, and the lobby was crowded with people hurrying to the exits. High windows revealed that the sun had already set.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Constable. I was afraid you might find the choice of a program too...well, too childish. But to me, it wouldn't be Christmas without "The Nutcracker."

"Not at all! In fact, I remember being taken..." He stopped in surprise at the sudden impact with his knees of something small, yet very solid. He looked down to see a pair of tiny feet encased in black- patent shoes. They were attached to a pair of chubby legs, clad in tights, that seemed to disappear into a froth of white lace petticoats.

Fraser knelt instantly and righted the owner of the feet, setting them gently on the floor. The face that emerged from the pile of petticoats was pink, cheerful, and round, surrounded by a halo of reddish curls, and not at all perturbed by the accident.

"Are you all right, Sweetheart?" asked Fraser, amused in spite of himself.

"Yes," said the little girl. "I was ballet-ing."

"And where's Mother?" asked an equally amused Thatcher, who had scouted the area quickly.

"Mommy's not here," said the child matter-of-factly. The two adults exchanged a slightly anxious glance over her head. "I came with Aunt Kathy and Uncle Jim," she finished.

Sure enough, a young couple was approaching them anxiously. They were attractive and well-dressed. The young woman's strawberry-blonde curls resembled those of her niece. "Katie!" she exclaimed.

"I was just ballet-ing, Aunt Kathy," replied Katie.

Uncle Jim bent down to scoop the little girl up into his arms. "Thank these nice people, Katydid," he said. "And then we need to get you home so Santa can come tonight." He smiled at them over her head.

"Thanks! Bye!" said Katie with a wave of her small hand.

"Good-bye, Katie! Merry Christmas," replied Fraser with a smile. Then he turned again to Meg. Benton Fraser thought that Meg had never looked so charming. She was wearing a woolen suit in the shade of red he found so irresistible, but she had selected a much softer blouse than those she usually wore to the office. The simple ivory ruffle framed her face. Ben was interrupted by similar thoughts fairly often. He reached up to tug nervously at his high collar. "Inspector Thatcher," he began.

She looked up at him inquiringly and smiled.

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to an early supper." There. He had gotten it all out. "That is, if you're free of course."

Meg Thatcher smiled again. "I thought you were planning to sing at St. Michael's this evening," she replied.

"Yes, I am. But that's not until much later. Midnight mass," he explained.

"Well, in that case, I'd enjoy supper very much."

Ben helped her carefully into her coat and the two left the concert hall together. A chill wind with the promise of more snow, whipped off the lake and between the skyscrapers of Chicago. But the restaurant, when they arrived, was warm and cozy.

 

**14\. Chicago, West Racine Street: Wednesday, 5 p.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_Children, go where I send thee._  
How should I send thee?  
I'm going to send thee two by two,  
Two for Paul and Silas  
One for the little bitty baby that's born in Bethlehem.

Will McNeill yawned and stretched as he padded into the kitchen. He lit the burner under the coffee pot and settled into his chair at the kitchen table. He had slept like the dead since hearing from his nephew. After a nap, shower, and shave, he felt like a new man. He glanced at the kitchen clock. Five o'clock. He had plenty of time to linger over his coffee before he needed to find a cab.

Will was surprised by a knock at the door. He opened it to reveal a tall, well-dressed, good-looking young man tapping his foot impatiently on the mat. He recognized the man instantly.

"Mr. McNeill?"

"Yes, and you're the cop who arrested me the other night," replied Will.

"I won't take up much of your time, Mr. McNeill. Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago P.D. I've come to talk to you about your missing guitar." Will opened the door and stood aside. "Are you really Willie McNeill?" asked the younger man as he entered. Ray glanced around at Will's living room. The walls were lined with signed, framed photographs, making it a shrine to the blues legends of the past fifty yearas. "I guess you are," he went on, smiling.

Will led the way to the kitchen. "Coffee?" he asked, indicating a chair for Ray to sit down in.

"Sure, why not?" replied the detective. "I want you to know that I've been looking into your case. It'll take a few days of paperwork, but I expect any charges will be dropped. What happened?"

"Just in the wrong place at the wrong time," sighed Will. "Hallie knew the vultures were closing in. She just didn't realize how close they were. Neither did I."

"Well, let's talk about your guitar," replied Ray as he pulled out his notebook.

The two men became absorbed in their conversation, which turned from the guitar to music in general, to Will's new nephew. Will glanced up at the clock. "Look at the time!" he exclaimed. "I've got to catch a cab to go meet the kids."

"Let me drop you off, Mr. McNeill," replied Ray. "It's in the neighborhood, right?"

"Thanks. I'll get my coat," replied the older man.

 

**15\. Chicago: Wednesday, 5 p.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_I'll be home for Christmas.  
You can count on me._

The hospital lobby was crowded, even on Christmas Eve. Jimmy left the building quickly and headed for the parking lot and Gal. He checked her reservoir quickly, then liberated her from the lot at a cost of $7.50. As he pulled up to the entrance, he turned on the heater. It would not only keep Renee and the baby warm, but it might help relieve some of the pressures he knew were building up within Gal.

Renee was seated in a wheelchair, holding their warmly-bundled son in her arms. A bored nurse attended them. She pointedly ignored the lack of a car seat as Jimmy helped Renee into the back, saw her buckled in carefully, and handed her the baby. The wind had picked up again, and the snow was beginning to fall. The nurse pulled her sweater around her as she hurried back into the lobby.

Jimmy smiled at Renee in the rearview mirror, then turned all of his attention to driving. He was unaccustomed to the icy slush he found himself navigating. But Gal was nothing if not heavy and sturdy, and he soon got the knack of keeping her under control.

The temperature gauge seemed to creep up even faster than before. Jimmy gritted his teeth. If Gal could make this one last trip, everything would be OK. He just needed to get them home.

Unfortunately, his preoccupation with the slick streets and Gal's condition brought about a lapse in his concentration. As he stopped at a red light, he realized that he did not know where they were. He glanced to the left and to the right, but he did not recognize the name of the intersecting street at all. After another block or two, he realized that they were well and truly lost. The sense of direction bred into someone from the country seemed to have deserted him on these snowy city streets. He watched the numbers on the in an attempt to determine his direction.

Renee slept lightly in the back seat until the baby, hungry again, started up that strong wail of his. She woke and began to make small soothing sounds, which helped for a while but not long. "I'm going to need to feed him soon, Jimmy," she began."

"Can you feed him back there?" asked her husband, glancing anxiously into the rearview mirror. "I'll stop the car and pull over, and I can keep the heat going." He pulled over to the curb.

Renee nodded and settled the baby at a breast with an expertise surprising in such a new mother. Jimmy removed his jacket quickly, turned around in the seat, and laid it over both of them. He looked out through the snow that was beginning to collect on Gal's windshield. The yellowish pools of light generated by the few streetlights did little to illuminate their surroundings. Jimmy thought they were in an area of what looked like warehouses. The few storefronts were shuttered, doubtless closed early for the holiday.. He could make out a much brighter area many blocks ahead of them. Gal's gauge was pinned in the red zone.

"How're you two doing back there," he asked, suppressing his anxiety.

"He's find," replied Renee, touching a tiny cheek with her finger. "I think he's had enough to tide him over. We can get started again."

"I'm just going to turn off the car a minute and check under the hood," Jimmy replied. He got out, leaving his jacket tucked around his wife and son. Waving his arms a bit to ward off the icy wind, he went back to the trunk, got the bottle of water, and opened Gal's hood. Shreds of steam escaped, and no snow had collected their during their brief stop. Once again he refilled the reservoir.

Back in the car, he gave what he felt was his most reassuring smile to Renee as he placed the key in the ignition. Gal hummed back to life, but as he put her in gear, the embattled water pump gave up its fight for survival with a deafening clatter that sounded for all the world like a machine gun. Jimmy turned the car off immediately. "Damn it all!" he muttered, slapping the steering wheel with both hands.

Renee knew her husband as a carefully-reared preacher's son, and she had never heard him swear in all the years she had known him. "Water pump, Jimmy?" she asked quietly from the back seat.

"How did you know?"

"I've been watching you all the way up the road," she replied. "It's not the end of the world. As soon as you're working, you can get a rebuilt one."

"I need to get you and the baby home tonight," Jimmy replied. His voice and his eyes held the bleak despair he could no longer conceal.

"I'm going to give the baby a little more dinner," replied his wife calmly.

 

**16\. Chicago, Downtown: Wednesday, 7 p.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot_  
And never brought to mind?  
Should auld acquaintance be forgot  
And days of auld lang syne?

Ben and Meg laughed and talked together over their meal, recalling their shared afternoon. The comfortable surroundings brought an easy intimacy to their conversation that was seldom possible within the confines of the Consulate. "She was so adorable!" Meg exclaimed, "A little ballerina-to-be. I remember..." and her face softened, "I remember being carried away just like that by The Nutcracker when I was about her age." She laughed. "My father had me convinced that dancers who sucked their thumbs were instantly drummed out of the corps de ballet--with no appeal."

"And did your thumb-sucking keep you out of the corps de ballet?" asked Fraser, amused.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I took ballet lessons until I discovered boys and horses, which occurred at about the same time."

"What's on your Christmas Eve musical program?" she went on after a short pause.

"Well," Ben tugged at his collar again before continuing. "A program of traditional carols, and" he paused. "My first appearance as a soloist at St. Michael's Church."

"You can't be nervous," Meg remarked.

"Not really," Ben smiled. "Actually it's more of a duet than a solo. Perhaps you'd like to join us." He paused awkwardly, then plunged ahead. "I know you're not Catholic; actually, I'm not either. But I think you might enjoy the music." Ben cherished a secret hope of eventually luring Meg into the choir, and not just because of her fine voice. However he had not worked out a strategy for dealing with Francesca's inevitable reaction. It had taken him weeks to summon up the courage to return to the choir after her blurted question about sleeping together. Still, this evening's music might be the perfect inducement for Meg. "You could sit with Ray and Mrs. Vecchio," he concluded.

He was surprised when Meg showed no hesitation. "I'd like that very much," she responded warmly.

"Well, in that case, I'm not going to tell you what the solo is," Ben replied. "I hope you don't mind. I just need to stop by and pick up Dief and a few things. Oh, and I need to check with a neighbor of mine, Will McNeill."

He began to relate the events of the past two days to Meg, who listened with interest. "I can imagine what Detective Vecchio must feel like having arrested a local legend," she said drily.

"He's never going to live it down," replied Ben.

The pair left the restaurant and began looking for a taxi. .Ben stepped into the street and, with a piercing whistle and wave of his arm, flagged one down. He and Meg were soon settled into it, and he gave the driver his address. "221 West Racine, please."

Their taxi moved slowly through the icy streets.

 

**17\. Chicago: Wednesday, 7 p.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_Then woe is me, poor child, for thee._

Ray and Will pulled up in front of Leola Grant's rooming house. It was a little after 7 p.m. "You're sure this is the address?" asked Ray, squinting dubiously out through the blowing snow.

"This is it," replied Will. "I've seen better neighborhoods, but I've seen worse, too."

"Yeah. Well, I'll just walk in with you. Let's be sure you're in the right place," said Ray with another glance at his watch.

The two men pulled their coats closer as they made their way up the steps. Smells of cooking greeted them in the narrow, brightly-lit hallway. Will knocked on the door marked "Office."

The door opened a crack and was immediately thrown wide by a tiny, elderly woman. "Mr. McNeill? I'm Leola Grant." She held out her hand.

"Will McNeill," he replied, shaking it. "And this is Detective Vecchio of the Chicago Police. He's been kind enough to drop me off. Are the kids here?"

Mrs. Grant frowned a little as she admitted them. "No, and I must say I'm a little concerned. It's well after seven. They were to have left the hospital no later than six. That car of Jimmy's..."

"Did you contact the hospital, Mrs. Grant?" Ray was pulling out his cell phone as he spoke.

"I was just about to when you knocked."

Ray dialed a number, then tapped his foot impatiently. "I'm on hold," he told the other two.

"Sit down, Mr. McNeill," Mrs. Grant was saying. "Let me take your coat."

A few minutes later, Ray shut his cell phone. "Discharge papers said 4:30 p.m., he said to the pair seated in the living room. And there's a nurse who took them downstairs and waited while Renee and the baby got in the car. Possible they might have gotten lost getting back here?"

"It's entirely possible," replied Will. "That or they broke down. That car is a rattletrap, for as much as Jimmy loves it. And he wasn't accustomed to driving in this weather."

"Do you know the license plate number?"

Will spread his hands. "All I can tell you is it's a Mississippi tag. The car is just like yours, Ray. A 1971 Buick Riviera. Sort of a gold-orange color, not in very good condition."

Ray raised his eyebrows and opened his cell phone again. He spoke a few words into it.

"All right, Will. The cops are out looking for them."

Will stood up and pulled on his coat. "I can't sit still here while they're out there," he said in a low voice.

"Let's go," replied Ray. "Mrs. Grant, you stay right here in case they show up. Here's my cell phone number. Call me." Ray scribbled it down, and the two men left the small apartment."

 

**18\. Chicago: Wednesday, 7 p.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_Sire the night is darker now and the wind blows stronger  
Fails my heart I know not how. I can go no longer._

"Jimmy," began Renee a short time later. "It looks like if we go that way, there are more lights up there." She pointed in the direction Gal was facing. "Maybe we can find a taxi."

Jimmy held her close in the Gal's ample back seat. They had not seen a single passerby. No cars, trucks, or pedestrians seemed interested in this bleak neighborhood. "You and the baby can't walk all that way in this snow," replied Jimmy. "It must be almost a mile. And I'm sure not going to leave you here."

"Look, Jimmy, it's better to walk and stay warm than to sit here and freeze. I'm sure we'll find something. Maybe a telephone." Renee unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door of the car.

"All right. We'll try it your way." Jimmy grabbed his jacket and wrapped it securely around the baby, then helped his family through the fast-accumulating snow over to the sidewalk. The wind blew in intermittent gusts, making the way ahead nearly invisible at times. With a flash of regret for the suitcase of baby things in the trunk, he put his arm around Renee. "OK. We're going to take this nice and easy. Ready?"

At her nod, the three started off. Renee held the sleeping baby tightly, and Jimmy held on to her, ignoring the cold that bit to his very core now that he had given up his jacket. The wind blew down the street through the buildings in intermittent, shrieking gusts, each threatening to knock the two of them to the ground. "If this is what they mean by a white Christmas, I think I'll pass," he joked.

The snow underfoot began soaking through their shoes, and in a short while, they could not feel their feet. Renee looked anxiously down at the baby, but snuggled in his snowsuit and wrapped in his father's jacket, he continued to slumber peacefully. His warmth against her was reassuring. She felt as though the wind was reaching deeply into her, sucking away what little energy she had. She tried to ignore the fact that she had given birth less than a day ago, and that she had slept little since awakening yesterday morning.

Time seemed to stop for them as they measured their progress slowly � from one building to the next, from one block to the next. Jimmy noticed that most of the buildings were boarded up. He could find nothing that might offer them safe shelter.

"I need to stop for a minute, Jimmy," she said, finally.

"I can't let you do that, NeNe," he replied firmly. "It's only a little ways more." The lights ahead seemed to him to be just as dishearteningly far away as they had at the beginning of this endless walk through the snow. "Make pretend you're walking down the road at home to see Flora. It's not even as far as that. Think about what it's like taking that walk in the summertime. Maybe Flora will have some lemonade or some sweet tea ready for you when you get there."

Renee did not reply. When they had gone another block, the lights appeared a little nearer. Jimmy peered ahead through the snow. He thought that part of the sidewalk in the next block looked as though it had been cleared. "Look," he pointed. "Up ahead there a little, it looks like somebody has shoveled the walk. Let's see how quickly we can walk that far."

When they had finally gained the cleared area, they were assailed by a tropical blast of heat. Steam! Steam was coming up through a metal grate in the walkway. It carried a strange, musty odor, and it dissipated quickly in the cold, but the walkway under their feet was pleasantly, blessedly warm. "How about that!" exclaimed Jimmy. "We can warm ourselves up here. It must have something to do with a heating plant." He guided Renee to a spot next to the darkened building, and they stood huddled in silence, letting the warmth soak into their icy feet.

***

"Stop for just a moment, please." Benton Fraser's request to the taxi driver was spoken in a voice of command.

"Here?" asked the driver. "It's deserted. We're nowhere near West Racine Street."

"Inspector, please stay here with the cab. I believe I recognize that car at the corner. I'll be right back." Ben was out of the cab and around the corner, crouching in the snow behind the abandoned vehicle. He brushed the snow away from the license plate and looked around quickly. The snow had begun to fill in the sets of muddled footprints that led from the car to the sidewalk and into the gloom beyond.

Ben returned to the cab and opened the door. "Inspector, that car belongs to the two young people I was telling you about � Will McNeill's nephew and his wife. I believe they've met with some difficulty and that I can find them on foot. Renee McNeill is pregnant..."

"Understood, Constable." Meg opened her purse and leaned up toward the driver. "How much do we owe you?"

"Inspector, perhaps you should consider just taking the taxi home," began Ben.

"Nonsense, Fraser," replied Meg briskly. "A little snow isn't going to bother me. Besides, if they need assistance, two heads will be better than one."

"Point taken," replied Ben as Meg shut the door. The cab left quickly.

"They abandoned the car here," began Ben. "And started walking in this direction."

"Too bad," observed Meg. "If they'd turned around and walked the other way, they'd have found a place to get in out of this snow."

***

Ray drove slowly, peering out through the windshield. The Riv's windshield wipers were barely able to keep up. The two men had been largely silent during the hour's time they had been on the streets. Ray's cell phone shrilled, startling them both.

"Yeah. OK. I'm about ten blocks from there." He peered outside again. "I'll call for assistance if I need it." As he closed the phone, he turned to Will. "They think they've found the car." He skidded into a barely controlled turn and headed down a dark side street.

***

Meg experienced a fleeting moment of regret for her shoes. The snow was beginning to soak through them. It had long since entered through the tops. She shook off the discomfort, thankful that she had at least selected a low-heeled pair that morning. As they covered block after block, the two sets of tracks seemed to stop and start again several times. Meg's thoughts turned to Renee, who must have had to stop for rest.

"There!" exclaimed Fraser. "Right up in the next block, standing on the sidewalk."

"God, Ben!" exclaimed Meg. "It looks like they've got the baby with them."

Short moments later, Jimmy McNeill was staring incredulously into the anxious blue eyes of Benton Fraser. "I remember you," he began. "The policeman. My uncle's neighbor."

"That's right," replied Ben, beginning to shed his coat.

Meg had approached Renee. "You had the baby," she began.

"We can get a cab just up there," Ben observed. "We'll have you warm in a few minutes."

The slight young woman was swept up effortlessly into Benton Fraser's arms. Meg handed the baby carefully over to Jimmy, and covered them both in Ben's coat. The unlikely group now made steady progress towards the brightly-lit street that now seemed to be just ahead.

When they reached the corner, Ben set Renee down He began looking up and down the street in search of a taxi.

"I can call somebody," Meg offered.

"A good idea," replied Ben. He took the baby carefully and handed him back to his mother. "Inspector, why don't you take Jimmy and Renee into that store? They look as though they're still open."

As they turned to enter the small shop, a dark green car stopped a few yards away. Its driver emerged, squinted ahead through the gloom, and said quietly. "It's them. All of them. I don't believe it.

***

  
It was a tight fit, but somehow all six adults, plus the baby, managed to squeeze into the Riv.

"Possible we could stop by our car and get the baby's things?" asked Jimmy from the backseat.

"My pleasure," Ray smiled at him in the mirror and turned back down the darkened street they had just come from. "You picked a hell of a neighborhood to break down in."

"What year Riviera is this?" asked Jimmy.

"It's a �71."

Renee laughed. "Same year as our Gal," she replied.

Ray whistled as they pulled up next to the deserted Gal. "You have excellent taste in cars," he observed as Jimmy got out. Jimmy extracted the suitcase from Gal's trunk, and they placed it carefully into the Riv. "What happened?"

"Oh, she'll be good as new if I can get her a new water pump," replied Jimmy.

"Yeah, well, we'll make arrangements to get her out of here," replied Ray. "And I have a mechanic."

"I am a mechanic," replied Jimmy as they squeezed back into their seats. "Best there is. At least good enough to keep Gal going. Someday I'm going to get her painted."

"You got the cigarette lighter in yours?" asked Ray as he continued to keep one eye on the traffic.

 

**19\. Chicago, St. Michael's Church: Wednesday, 11:30 p.m. (Christmas Eve)**

_The angels sang, the shepherds sang  
The grateful earth rejoiced._

Meg squeezed into the pew at the very end next to Ma Vecchio. Ray, seated on Ma's other side, smiled and winked at her. She knelt for a few moments, but all she could think of to do was to thank God that her shoes were beginning to dry and her feet were finally warm. She also managed Well, it was enough, she decided as she took her seat again.

With minimal rustling of programs, the choirs � adults and children � took their places at the front of the church. Frannie, from her place with the women, managed a wink and a small wave at Ma before the program started. Meg found herself lulled and comforted by the familiar music. She thought of the young child, now safe and warm with his family, and tried to blot out the memory of the harrowing circumstances in which she and Fraser had found him.

Her pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a lull in the music. She glanced at the front of the church to see her subordinate stepping out of his place, looking exceedingly festive in his red tunic. He was joined, from the other side, by a thoroughly scrubbed and combed young man about eleven years of age. Ben looked down at the youngster and said something, bent to hear the answer, and with a smile and a wink, put his arms around the child's shoulder. "Joey Amalfitano" whispered Ma. The organ played a few soft notes, and Ben's voice, interwoven with Joey's, rose and intertwined, filling the large, softly-lit church and making of it a place of community and intimacy: "Ahh," breathed Ma almost to herself, "Gesu Bambino."

When blossoms flowered amid the snow,   
Upon a winter night,   
Was born the Child, the Christmas Rose,   
The King of Love and Light.   
The angels sang, the shepherds sang,   
The grateful earth rejoiced;   
And at His blessed birth the stars   
Their exultation voiced.

O come let us adore Him   
O come let us adore Him   
O come let us adore Him   
Christ the Lord.

Again the heart with rapture glows   
To greet the holy night,   
That gave the world its Christmas Rose,   
Its King of Love and Light   
Let ev'ry voice acclaim His name,   
The grateful chorus swell   
From paradise to earth He came   
That we with Him might dwell.

O come let us adore Him   
O come let us adore Him   
O come let us adore Him   
Christ the Lord.

"Gesu Bambino," breathed Ma with a smile. And Meg found herself holding the hand of the older woman, their fingers intertwining as the simple carol worked its magic.

 

**20\. Chicago, West Racine Street: Friday, 6:45 a.m. (Feast of St. Stephen)**

_God rest ye merry, gentlemen.  
Let nothing you dismay._

Ray Vecchio parked the Riv at the curb in front of 221 West Racine Street in the early dawn. Yawning a bit, he opened the ample trunk and extracted a suitcase and a large, flat cardboard carton. He tucked the carton under his arm as best he could as he made his way into the building and upstairs.

Benton Fraser was opening the door to Will McNeill's apartment as Ray emerged from the stairwell. "Over here, Ray!" called Ben. He reached out to relieve Ray of the carton. "We saw you drive up."  
Ray could smell coffee as he entered the apartment. Will handed him a steaming mug with a smile as he set down the large suitcase. "Will, this stuff is from my mother," Ray began. "It gets circulated among all the cousins. This is the newborn stuff. Baby clothes," as he pointed to the suitcase, "and a portable crib," indicating the box. "By the time your nephew gets done with it, there'll be a cousin somewhere with a new baby waiting for it. C'm on, Benny. There's at least two more loads."

The three men went down to the Riv's ample trunk and dragged the rest of the equipment upstairs. As they set the last of it down in Will's small living room, Ben said, "Mr. McNeill and I were just discussing the guitar situation, Ray."

Ray found his coffee and took a long sip, then sighed with pleasure. "Well, I've got your paperwork, Will. And there are a few contacts I can try. I'd suggest you give me until, say, noon. Just give me a call and I'll update you. You ready, Benny?"

"Are you going to need any help getting all this to your nephew?" asked Ben.

"No," replied Will smiling. "I figure I'll be over there quite a bit. I'll just do it by degrees."

"How's the baby?" asked Ray. "Nothing wrong after his walk in the cold, I hope."

"It's hard to believe something that small could have that big a mouth," began Will. "But he's doing just fine and so are his parents. By the way. Hallie's already called this morning. She's planning to open the club again this evening."

"She's not letting the scum run her out any sooner than she wants to go. That's good," replied Ray. "Maybe I'll stop by, listen in on a couple of sets, make sure everything's OK. By the way," Ray pulled a set of keys and a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed them to Will. "I had the police wrecker tow Jimmy's Riv to my cousin Al's garage. It's safe there. Al can hook Jimmy up with a rebuilt water pump when he's ready."

When Ray and Ben had left, Will sat over his coffee and planned his day. The guitar would be a problem. He would have to find something, anything, that would be sufficient until he could retrieve his own. And he would need to let Jimmy know. He might as well sit in and start making a name for himself. By 8:30, Will was ready to leave the apartment. The baby things would need to wait. He had a stop to make.

Will's cab dropped him off in front of Easy-Pawn. Fortunate for him that Harry Baines' place was so convenient to his nephew's. He was waiting when Harry opened the door.

"Will!" said the enormous man. "What brings you to my establishment so early the day after Christmas?"

"I need a guitar," began Will. "Mine has been stolen."

"Yeah. I read about that raid on Hattie's place. Too bad. Yours was a Gretsch, wasn't it?"

"Yes, and I hope to get it back. But let's see what you've got."

"I haven't got a Gretsch in the place," began Harry. "But I've run across a very fine instrument." He moved his bulk to the back of the counter, reached underneath, pulled out a worn case, and opened it. "I know you're a true connoisseur. It's a Gibson, a 1949. I figure it's worth at least two grand. I could let you have it for, say twelve hundred."

Will leaned closer to examine the guitar. His eye was caught by a faded label stuck to the case's green velvet lining. He kept his face immobile. "How did you come by this, Harry?"

"Left longer than thirty days, Will. You know how it is." Harry spread his hands and put on his grieving face.

Will pulled the instrument out, looked it over, and began to play. After a time, he laid it in the case and pulled out his wallet. "Well, Harry, I know you don't take MasterCard." He extracted some bills. "And I don't carry that kind of cash around town with me. Will this hold it until I can get to the bank?"

"That'll be just fine," said Harry, wiping his hands on his pants and reaching for the cash. "But don't be too much longer than that. An instrument like this, that I'm letting go for a song � it's gonna go fast. I was just about to..."

"I'd like to get a receipt, Harry. Back in a couple of hours."

Will left Easy-Pawn and made his way down the block to the rooming house. He spared only a nod for Renee and said to Jimmy, "Let's take a little walk." Once they had left the apartment he got straight to the point. "You sold the Gibson to Harry Baines."

"What?"

"The Gibson, the guitar I gave you all those years ago. What is it doing down the street at Harry's?"

"Uncle Will, I was down to my last seven-fifty. I pawned the guitar. Took a loan out against it for thirty days. Here's the ticket." Jimmy produced the paper, which he had stored carefully in his wallet. "I figured once I got hold of you, or found work, I could get it back easily in that amount of time. I couldn't even get diapers for the baby," he finished.

"You didn't sell it to him." Will examined the ticket carefully. "No, you sure didn't. Where is there a phone?"

Jimmy, not wishing to disturb Mrs. Grant, pointed to the pay phone at the end of the hall. Will punched in the number and jiggled the change in his pocket impatiently as it rang. His face relaxed visibly when the voice on the other end said "Vecchio." When the short conversation was finished, Will turned to Jimmy. "Now. I'd like to see that new nephew of mine." The two men entered the apartment.

Ray arrived a short time later. "Let's just say Harry's not known for his honesty," he began. "You have the ticket, Jimmy?" Jimmy handed it over. "I'm just going to take a walk down there. I'll be back."

"He's already got a hundred dollars of mine," said Will, pulling out his wallet. "Here's the other twenty-five."

"I won't be needing this," replied Ray.

About a half-hour later Ray was back, carrying a familiar worn case. He handed it to Jimmy. "Harry has agreed to forgive the loan in exchange for certain considerations," Ray said. "And that wasn't too tough because we want him right where he is."

"I don't know how to thank you," Jimmy began.

Ray cut him short. "You could start by inviting me to hear you play."

"Any time," Jimmy smiled at him.

"Well, you can start tonight," interrupted Will. "Hallie's place. Be there around nine."

"I wouldn't miss it," replied Ray.

"We've got things to do, Jimmy," said his uncle. "I'm still looking for something to play, and we'll practice this afternoon." The three men left the rooming house together and parted on the street.

***

Benton Fraser arrived at the 27th a little after noon, as was his habit on most days. He found Ray on the phone. "No kiddin'," he laughed. "That beats anything I ever heard. Well, I'll close it up and we'll see you at nine. Right." He shook his head as he hung up.

"That was Will McNeill," he said as he turned to Ben. "There's an old guy who sweeps up down there at the club. Turns out he had the guitar all along. Saw what had happened and took Will's guitar home for safekeeping. So," he paused for breath. "Feel like taking in a little real music tonight?"

Copyright (c) 1999 by Josephine March 


End file.
